Unwell
by TA Maxwell
Summary: (songfic w/ spoilers) While Chichiri remains in the book fighting memories of pain, Tamahome fights feelings of loneliness, but both have their minds on the same thing: they're different. Both struggle to keep their sanity fighting battles in their minds


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Unwell

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Tamahome laid back against the bed, his eyes on the ceiling. Thoughts dashed through his head faster than he could understand them. He hadn't been in Miaka's world too long, but already he knew he didn't belong. He came from a book; he had no shadow. His face was never reflected in a mirror. He wasn't there. 

"What's happening to me?" he whispered to himself. In the soft lamplight of Keisuke's room, shadows danced across the ceiling. Mesmerizing. There was one that looked like Yuiren. Half-thinking about what he was doing, his hand reached up towards the flickering shade, and in his mind, the shadow reached back.

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All day staring at the ceiling  
Making friends with shadows on my wall

The sun had set hours ago, and he had been ready for sleep, but for Suzaku's sorcerer, sleep would not come. A tired sigh pierced Chichiri's unmasked mouth. This was happening more often than not, ever since Tamahome and Miaka had vanished in the divine light of Suzaku. 

"If I close my eyes, I'm afraid I won't wake up…" he whispered to no one. He had never liked war, and now being directly involved in one, with Mitsukake badly injured and not letting himself get better, their powers missing, things were only getting worse. He smiled only barely. "Maybe not waking up would be nice, though. I wouldn't have to see anyone be hurt anymore."

"Do you really think that?" a voice from the darkness quietly replied. Chichiri jerked up quickly. 

"Who's there?"

Nothing moved as he scanned the room.

"Come on out!" he ordered, raising his voice just enough to sound forceful without waking anyone else nearby.

"You shouldn't let this bother you. Sleep isn't so bad. You close your eyes and open them to a new day, with new experiences, old friends. And I'll be here too, waiting for you. Try and sleep, Houjun."

Chichiri's grip on his covers loosened as he realized the voice. Kouran. Words she had said to him so long ago. The voice was nothing more than a bittersweet memory.

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All night hearing voices telling me  
That I should get some sleep  
Because tomorrow might be good for something

"This isn't happening…" Tamahome whispered, clenching his fist as the shadow vanished in with the others.

"It wasn't real…" Chichiri choked, feeling a tear growing in his good eye. Memories were flowing into his mind, everything that had happened those six years ago.

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Hold on  
Feeling like I'm headed for a breakdown  
And I don't know why  


"Please don't run…"

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But I'm not crazy,

"Listen…"

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I'm just a little unwell

"I'm not all that you see…"

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I know right now you can't tell

"I'm not what you see…"

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But stay awhile and maybe then you'll see

"There's more…"

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A different side of me

"Listen…"

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I'm not crazy,

"Hear me…"

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I'm just a little impaired

"Learn who I am…"

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I know right now you don't care

"I need to learn too…"

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But soon enough you're gonna think of me

"Then I can be me again."

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And how I used to be...Me.

"I'll be right back, Tamahome!" Miaka called back cheerfully, heading towards the train's snack station. Tamahome smiled in response, but it wasn't a true smile, just as Miaka's chipper voice was false. Neither could be happy knowing their time together was limited. As she vanished, his face fell into it's true feelings.

"Why can't I stay with her?" his voice shuddered as a sob caught in his throat. "Why can't I belong here? Why can't I be like her…like all of these people?"

"Whatcha mean, mister?" a tiny voice perked up. At Tamahome's feet stood a small child, the very image of Gyokuran. His eyes widened in astonishment.

"Gyoku-chan?" he scooped the girl into his arms. "You're…you're alive?"

"Get your hands off my daughter!!" a woman shrieked, her purse connecting with Tamahome's head. The girl fell from his grip as he was sent stumbling back. Everyone in the train compartment was staring at him.

"Don't look at me…"

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I'm talking to myself in public  
Dodging glances on the train

"Would you look at that?" a woman whispered, watching Chichiri lead his horse out of the stalls. His mask hung under his belt, torn and unwearable from a soldier waiting for treatment. He had practically attempted to rip his face off as a way to stop his pain, and only succeeded with the mask. The poor man had passed away only moments later. Now Mitsukake needed more herbs for his medicines, and he was sent to get them.

"Frightful," a second woman replied, a basket of clothes on her hip. "Wonder what he did to deserve that."

"I'm sure I could never guess. Maybe he killed someone or something."

Chichiri's hand tightened on the horse's coarse mane as the words reverberated through his ears. 

Murderer.

Monster.

Disfigured freak.

He'd heard them all before many times. He'd even called himself such, each time a knife pulling across his soul. The pain was a relief of sorts, yet it was still pain. The horse whinnied, a warning that his grip was becoming too tight. Gently, his hands released the creature. 

"Sorry, girl," he whispered, petting the horse's neck.

"Would you look at that, hurting that poor animal like that," the first woman haughtily retorted to the other. This was the final straw.

"Does my not having as many eyes as you make me less than you? Am I not a human being too?"

Without waiting for a reply, he nudged the horse into a gallop down the dust road. 

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And I know, I know they've all been talking about me  
I can hear them whisper  
And it makes me think there must be something wrong with me

"Don't look at me…" Tamahome choked, stepping back from all the people, the many pairs of staring eyes. He was alone. He was different, vulnerable. Had any of them noticed his shadow? Did any of them see he wasn't being reflected in the window behind him? "Stop looking at me!"

Tears stung Chichiri's eyes as the horse's hooves thundered underneath him. The wind promptly flung the droplets of water behind him.

I'm not different. I'm just like them! I'm just…I'm…just…different…no…

"NO!!"

The painful cry was lost to the wind, just as the tears that fell with it.

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Out of all the hours thinking  
Somehow I've lost my mind  


"I have my story…"

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But I'm not crazy,

"Will you listen to me tell it?"

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I'm just a little unwell

"I need someone to listen…"

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I know right now you can't tell

"While I still walk this earth…"

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But stay awhile and maybe then you'll see

"I need you to know about me…"

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A different side of me

"How I'm different…"

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I'm not crazy,

"Why I'm the way I am…"

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I'm just a little impaired

"I feel pain…"

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I know right now you don't care  
"I'm changing…"

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But soon enough you're gonna think of me

"I'm afraid to change."

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And how I used to be

"STOP LOOKING AT ME!!" Tamahome screamed, his body jerking up. His eyes widened as he looked around. He sat upon Keisuke's bed, covered in sweat and breathing heavily. The sun was beginning to set over the buildings outside the window, and the shadows on the ceiling had vanished. It had all been a dream. A horrible dream. 

"MITSUKAKE DON'T DO IT!" Chichiri shouted, clinging to the larger man. It was too late though; the healer surrendered his life in a blaze of honorable glory, all for a small child. Everyone's eyes were on the sorcerer as he removed the mask only minutes before he had placed upon his face. He was dead…one of his last friends on this world, one of the only people who had never said anything about him being different…because they were alike. They bore the same scars upon their souls. And now, Chichiri was alone. 

"Mitsukake-kun…" he choked, his throat drying, his tongue refusing to move. "You…you're just playing around…y-you're not dead…you can't be…you have to stay here…Mits…" a single tear landed on the paling face of the gentle healer. "MITSUKAKE!!"

"Poor man…"

"He's lost it. There's enough deaths with the war and he's sobbing over a suicide."

Chichiri heard them, but he couldn't respond this time. They'd never understand him. Only once before in his life had he ever felt so alone, and now there were searing words to harm his vulnerable body. His legs refused to move. Instead, Chichiri bowed his head and cried.

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I've been talking in my sleep  
Pretty soon they'll come to get me  
Yeah, they're taking me away  


"Different is pain…"

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But I'm not crazy,

"I am different…"

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I'm just a little unwell

"I hurt…"

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I know right now you can't tell

"Because others refuse to understand…"

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But stay awhile and maybe then you'll see

"So please…"

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A different side of me

"Now…"

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I'm not crazy,

"Just for a little while…"

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I'm just a little impaired

"Listen to me…"

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I know right now you don't care

"I need your sympathy…"

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But soon enough you're gonna think of me

"I need you now."

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And how I used to be

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TA: This song is by matchbox 20, and is simply beautiful. I thought it would make a good songfic, and couldn't decide whether it would work better for Chichiri or Tamahome in Miaka's world. So I did both! I'd say it turned out pretty well…tell me what you think. Ja!


End file.
